


The Loathsome Burden of Love

by melanoms



Series: 50 Kisses [19]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cigarettes, Other, Politics, Reader-Insert, Smoking, Unrequited Love, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26972563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanoms/pseuds/melanoms
Summary: Decades after your time together at uni, you call upon Mycroft's assistance handling a threat to national security. After successfully stopping the terrorist attack, you share a cigarette in the rain—exchanging smoke and years of unspoken words together.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Reader
Series: 50 Kisses [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671802
Comments: 9
Kudos: 86





	The Loathsome Burden of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr Kiss Prompt #41 kisses shared under an umbrella
> 
> Hey! Can you write 41 of 50 kiss challenge for Mycroft Holmes where the reader is a political figure(home secretary or prime minister)and there’s a political scandal (l don’t know if you are familiar with British politics so it can be a terrorist attack) and they work together (but Mycroft knows her when she was at uni and worked as his assistant(he had fallen hard for her))When its all over and reader is about to go back to her office Mycroft pulls her under his umbrella and kisses her.

He missed you.

He hated that he missed you.

It didn’t matter if he put an ocean, an office, or decades between you.

At the end of the day, at the beginning of it, and every minute in between, Mycroft Holmes missed you.

At first, he speculated that the nagging ache in his chest was an issue of convenience. You were, admittedly, one of the most tolerable people he could consider decent company. Without reading the papers together in blissful silence in the morning and enduring a rousing debate in the evening, he was left to converse with the goldfish.

But it continued...the ache. 

Frankly, it was a loathsome burden. 

Especially now that your eyes looked back at him through every television or newspaper throughout the country. While others marveled that the roaring success of your political career was luck, witchcraft, or God, he knew better. 

It was strategy.

Yet, when he saw you in person—after years of experiencing your bewitching presence via press conferences and debates—he knew the years hadn’t been kind to you either. How could they? If you too felt the unforgivable ache in your chest.

Now, as the rain washed away the tension of the day, Mycroft observed you draw in a deep inhale. You blew a column of smoke from your lips and passed him the cigarette.

“I thought you quit.” You coughed and crossed your arms.

“I did. And, as I recall, so did you.”

He extracted the last life from the cigarette and tossed it to the pavement, stamping on the end with the ball of his foot. You continued to watch the cars pass by and shook your head.

“Quite illegal, Mr. Holmes.”

“Then have me arrested.”

“If I wanted to punish you, I’d call for your brother’s services.”

Mycroft drew in a breath and rolled his eyes. 

“Lethal injection would be kinder. To both of us.”

“Yes, Mycroft. I’ll legalise capital punishment just to kill us both. Sexier than a traditional murder-suicide, you’d say?”

“I see your sense of humor hasn’t changed.”

“You see much more than that.”

You turned to look at him.

Finally, turned to look at him.

Mycroft’s jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth. He opened his mouth to speak. But your attention was taken, taken, taken away from him as one of your aides came to whisper in your ear.

The third most competent one.

You drew in a sharp inhale and nodded. After making eye contact with a member of your security team, the government employee withdrew an umbrella and offered you safe passage to your car.

Taking you away from the refuge underneath Mycroft’s wing once again.

You gave him a curt nod.

“I apologise that it took a terrorist attack for us to converse. But I appreciate your assistance, Mr. Holmes.”

“Anything for…” He cleared his throat and glanced down. “National security.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

But you both knew...you wouldn’t.

As you took one step toward your security detail, Mycroft was possessed by that loathsome ache. He reached for your wrist and spun you around. Your chest bumped against his as your heart flew into your throat.

As your lackeys readied themselves, he narrowed his eyes.

None of them were capable enough.

Capable of protecting you.

“Give me a moment with Mr. Holmes,” you breathed.

And they obeyed.

When your privacy was intact, Mycroft allowed the tension in his arm to relax. You released a deep breath as the rigidity around your back softened.

“Your re-election is drawing closer,” he murmured.

“That’s a presumptuous statement.”

“As if you haven’t created your matrix of possibilities yet.”

“Mycroft…”

His hand trailed up your back, simultaneously drawing you closer to him.

“I wish you the best of luck.”

“I don’t need luck.”

Closing the space between you—the years, the aches, the silence—Mycroft connected his lips with yours. You returned the gesture in kind as the lingering taste of your shared cigarette transferred between you.

Mycroft missed you.

And the ache melted away. Even for just a single moment in time.

You placed your hand to his chest and withdrew. Glancing away, you adjusted the lapels of your coat and stood upright. After a swallow, Mycroft handed you the handle of his umbrella.

“No, you don’t,” he said.

Fingers grazing over his, you accepted the umbrella.

“I’ll return this to you.” 

“As expected.”

When you entered the back seat of your car, Mycroft’s breath hitched as the ache in his chest returned. You glanced through the rearview window as the rain coated his head, his shoulders, and trailed down his suit.

Yes, he would get his umbrella back.

You’d see to it personally.


End file.
